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NASSAU HALL 



AN ADDRESS DELIVERED BEFORE 

THE NEW JERSEY SOCIETY OF COLONIAL DAMES 

OCTOBER 16 1906 



VARNUM LANSING COLLINS 



princeton n j 

the university library 

for the Princeton historical association 



Gift . 
Carnegie Inst 



Nassau Hall 



OBEDIENT to your request — a re- 
quest which I assure you is an honor 
I deeply appreciate — I am to bring 
before you in brief survey some of 
the memorable scenes that have claimed this 
building for their background, and so have 
added their touch of picturesqueness to its 
history. 

I need not ask you to consider the origins of 
this University, nor shall we linger over its 
early struggle for existence. That struggle 
was by no means over when in 1753 Mr. 
Nathaniel Fitzrandolph of Princeton presented 
to the trustees of the college the 4|-acre lot 
on which Nassau Hall was to be built. The 
plans were drawn by Dr. Edward Shippen and 
Mr. Robert Smith, the architect builder of the 
State House and Christ Church steeple at 
Philadelphia. The cornerstone was laid in 
July, 1754, and a year and a half later the roof 
was at length raised. And in a moment of 
happy inspiration Governor Belcher of New 
Jersey named the building in honor of William 
of Nassau, Prince of Orange. To that tender- 
hearted old colonial governor more than to 



any other individual do we owe the existence 
of this edifice. It is his only monument on 
our campus, but a better he could not have 
desired. 

The vicissitudes through which Nassau Hall 
has passed during the century and a half of 
its existence have necessarily led to many 
alterations in its appearance, chiefly internal. 
The Revolution left it a ruin; fires in 1802 
and 1855 destroyed all but the walls; succes- 
sive college administrations have added and 
taken away; it has just been through a pro- 
cess of partial restoration. To convey to you 
some idea of the original appearance of the 
historic apartment in which we are assem- 
bled, let me quote the following contemporary 
official account : 

"It has also," says this time-stained pamph- 
let, "an elegant hall of genteel workmanship, 
being a square of near 40 feet with a neatly 
furnished front gallery. Here is a small tho 
exceeding good organ, which was obtained by 
a voluntary subscription, opposite to which is 
erected a stage, for the use of the students in 
their public exhibitions. It is also ornamented 
on one side with a portrait of his late majesty 
George II at full length ; and on the other with 
a like picture (and above it the family arms 
neatly carved and gilt) of his excellency Gov- 
ernor Belcher." 

By a happy coincidence the presence here 
to-day of the Society of Colonial Dames 
marks Nassau Hall's sesquicentennial. For 
150 years ago this autumn the college with its 
70 students moved from Newark to occupy the 



new home here, at that time the largest struc- 
ture of its kind in America ;and on November 
14th of that year 1756, President Burr, that 
most winsome of early American academic 
figures, preached the sermon in this room, with 
which the record of collegiate exercises al 
Princeton begins. But to Mr. Burr was granted 
scarcely more than a glimpse of the promised 
land, whose vistas now seemed to open so fair 
before the college. For he did not outlive his 
first year at Princeton, and one golden after- 
noon in September, 1757, just before Com- 
mencement, he was carried from these walls, 
for which he had labored so valiantly, down to 
the quiet graveyard a hundred steps away. 

Then to the presidency followed Jonathan 
Edwards, Samuel Davies, and Samue* Finley, 
in such quick succession that it seemed as if 
some Nemesis were pursuing the institution. 
But in August, 1768, the spell was broken, and 
there came to Princeton a Scotsman who, dur- 
ing the quarter of a century that he ruled its 
ways, was to witness the darkest yet the proud- 
est years of its history; who was to instil 
something of his own rugged personality into 
its graduates, and who was to leave an im- 
press here at once a tradition and a legacy, a 
vision unto which the Princeton of to-day is 
once more obedient — the service of the nation. 

Each window in the building was lighted by 
a tallow dip that summer evening when John 
Witherspoon arrived; and the enthusiastic 
welcome he received was equalled only by the 
superb energy with which he plunged into his 
new duties and seized his opportunities. For 



a time things went well ; the Doctor's adver- 
tising tours and moneygathering expeditions 
resulted in immediate increase of students and 
of funds. The college bid fair to prosper, 
when the clouds began to darken in the polit- 
ical sky. Every movement of those clouds 
was mirrored on this campus. In 1770, when 
the letter of the New York merchants, break- 
ing their non-importation agreement and in- 
viting the city of Philadelphia to do the same, 
passed through Princeton, the collegians seized 
the cowardly document and with the utmost 
gravity burnt it in front of Nassau Hall. A 
letter home from a boy in college is the record 
of this incident. His name was James Madison. 

The Boston Tea Party also furnished a cue 
for undergraduate impetuosity, and late one 
afternoon in January, 1774, the embryo rebels 
of the campus broke into the steward's store- 
room in the basement of this building, confis- 
cated his whole winter supply of tea, and, ran- 
sacking all the other rooms for the same cheer- 
ing non-intoxicant, carried it in solemn pro- 
cession to the front campus, and there piling 
it around an effigy of Governor Hutchinson 
with a cannister about his neck, soberly set 
fire to it, the students in their black gowns 
making "spirited resolves," the college bell 
tolling dismally. 

It was in the autumn of that year that John 
Adams, on his way to the First Continental 
Congress, loitered here a day and a half. In 
this room, where George Whitefield had 
preached, he attended evening prayer and be- 
thought him of his flattering comment on the 



students singing — it was "as bad as that of the 
Presbyterians of New York." And from the 
balcony above the door he admired the wide 
extent of view — for our trees were few and 
slender in those colonial days — and, after 
drinking a glass of wine with the president 
and talking long with him, he went back to his 
tavern convinced that Dr. Witherspoon was 
as high a son of liberty as any man in America. 
And when on successive nights in April, 1775, 
those two shadowy horsemen came galloping 
across the state, past this restless seat of learn- 
ing,with the news of Lexington and Concord, 
and New Jersey was stirred at last to action, in 
the course then taken Dr. Witherspoon, as you 
know, had a prominent share. We find him 
in June, 1776, sent to the Provincial Congress 
and elected by that body to the Continental 
Congress, and at Philadelphia he was in his 
seat on those memorable first few days of 
July. 

In 1776 the Declaration of Independence was 
proclaimed from the steps of Nassau Hall on 
the 9th of July, and was greeted with a triple 
volley of musketry. Once more every window 
was lighted — "Nassau Hall was grandly illu- 
minated," says a local chronicler. A company 
of volunteers was formed from the undergrad- 
uates and joined Washington's army that sum- 
mer, and at the same time Nassau Hall was 
used more than once by passing American 
troops. In August the first legislature of New 
Jersey under the constitution sat here in the 
library room over the front entrance, and 
thereafter its sessions here were frequent. 



The summer and autumn passed, but with 
the patriot army things were going from bad 
to worse. Princeton, a hotbed of rebellion, 
lay in the path of the victorious enemy, and 
was certain to receive special attention at 
their hands. Accordingly, one morning late 
in November the undergraduates were called 
together in this hall and with deep emotion 
Dr. Witherspoon announced the disbandment 
of the college. A few days later Washington 
came hurrying through the deserted village 
with his retreating forces. On the 8th of De- 
cember the British and Hessians took posses- 
sion and began their twenty days' tyranny, 
quartering themselves in this empty building, 
in the Presbyterian Church and in half the 
dwelling houses of the neighborhood. But 
early in the morning of January 3, 1777, the 
British reinforcements which had issued so 
confidently from these quarters to assist in the 
capture of Washington at Trenton, came 
streaming back in disorder to seek refuge 
here. The American artillery was trained 
upon the building and, after two or three solid 
shot had been thrown at it, an eager band of 
local militia burst open the door and demanded 
the surrender of the demoralized redcoats. 
Scores of them had fled, but about 200 gave 
themselves up. Washington captured a quan- 
tity of baggage and provisions, made a bonfire 
of what he could not carry, and hurried off to 
safety. For Cornwallis was coming up from 
Trenton and Lawrenceville ; and in a few 
hours Nassau Hall fell back into the enemy's 
hands. But later in the afternoon it was left 



by them forever, as they made all haste to get 
on to New Brunswick. What damage the 
British and Hessians had left undone, in their 
use of this building as a barracks and a hos- 
pital, was completed by the American troops 
who took their place. The library had been 
ruined; the furniture and woodwork had been 
used for fuel; this hall was a wreck; one of 
the American cannon balls had come through 
the window and had struck the portrait of 
George II on the opposite wall full in the face, 
tearing the canvas to ribbons. No one knows 
what happened to Governor Belcher's portrait. 
The entire building was polluted and dis- 
mantled. College exercises were resumed in 
the following summer, but in the president's 
house. Nassau Hall remained a barracks and 
a hospital for American troops and British 
prisoners until the summer of 1778, when its 
military occupants finally left it. Recovery 
was slow, for money was scarcer than ever. 
Four years later the basement and upper stor- 
ies were still uninhabitable. The grammar 
school, to be sure, occupied temporary quar- 
ters at one end of the basement, and another 
room had also been sufficiently repaired to be 
used as a dining room; but the college proper 
was crowded into the centre of the building, 
and even there many of the rooms still lay 
waste. 

But in the summer of 1783 we find Nassau 
Hall on the threshold of the supreme epoch 
in its history, when it became the shelter of 
the federal government, and Princeton for five 
months was the capital of the young republic. 



In June, 1783, the members of Congress, 
frightened for their lives, fled from Philadel- 
phia to continue their session here. President 
Elias Boudinot had been directed to adjourn 
Congress either to Trenton or to Princeton. 
Why he, a trustee of the college, chose Prince- 
ton, where in his boyhood he had played 
along the village street, we need not ask. 
Colonel George Morgan, who lived at Pros- 
pect just outside the college grounds, at once 
offered to Congress the use of his house, and 
the faculty invited the fugitives to occupy 
Nassau Hall. The first three meetings were 
held at Prospect, and then Congress moved 
hither and for the rest of the stay at Prince- 
ton occupied ordinarily the library room. On 
state occasions the meetings were held in this 
apartment. Here the nation's representatives 
played the part of audience at the Fourth of 
July exercises of that year. 

But it was on the 26th of August that the 
great unforgettable scene was enacted. There 
was abroad that morning an air of ill sup- 
pressed excitement which must, I think, have 
played havoc with the recitations of the young 
gentlemen who were fortunate to be under- 
graduates. Congress assembled, the members 
sitting in groups by states, President Boudinot 
facing them, and wearing his hat as a sign of 
authority. By his side was a vacant chair. 
Just before noon a little cavalcade came riding 
slowly into town on the Rocky Hill road, a 
familiar figure in buff and blue at its head, 
behind him an escort of twelve troopers, who 
halted at the campus gate while the tall figure 



in the continental uniform dismounted and 
strode up to the steps of Nassau Hall, amid 
the shouts of Princeton undergraduates. At 
the stroke of twelve the door of this room 
swung open and, escorted by two members of 
the congressional committee on arrangements, 
George Washington entered. He was con- 
ducted to the empty chair beside Mr. Boudinot. 
In obedience to the call of Congress, he had 
come to receive the thanks and congratulations 
of his country. If in this chamber he had 
needed any reminder of that exciting winter 
morning in 1777, he had but to raise his eyes, 
for hanging on the wall was an empty gilded 
picture frame. The portrait which his cannon 
had ruined was gone. The frame was waiting 
for another occupant. 

Meanwhile Mr. Boudinot, still seated, but 
now uncovered, read amid intense silence the 
formal address from Congress congratulating 
Washington on the successful termination of 
the war and thanking him on behalf of the 
nation for the great services he had rendered. 
It alluded gracefully to his personal character 
and to the esteem in which he was held, and it 
hinted at the work that Congress still had for 
him to do ere he should return to private citi- 
zenship. The Commander-in-Chief then read 
a brief and modest acknowledgment, giving 
the entire credit to his soldiers and to Provi- 
dence; and it was all over. But the very sim- 
plicity of the ceremony lent it striking dignity. 
There was neither pomp, nor pageantry, nor 
blare of trumpets. In truth these soberly clad 
gentlemen knew no better way — they could 



have found none — to mark the climax of their 
hero's military career and to make the occasion 
impressive, than by stripping it of all that was 
merely external. The genuineness of their 
feeling was stamped on every act and word. 

This hall had little to do with the remark- 
able commencement exercises of that year, for 
they were held in the Presbyterian church. 
But when Washington presented fifty guineas 
to the college as a token of his regard, the 
trustees begged him to give sittings to Charles 
Wilson Peale, the painter, and the portrait 
when finished a year later was placed in the 
empty old gilt frame. And yonder it hangs ! 

The audience given in October to His Excel- 
lency Peter Van Berckel, the Minister Plenipo- 
tentiary from the Netherlands, was more cere- 
monious and artificial. He had landed at 
Philadelphia after a tempestuous voyage; he 
was dismayed to find Congress gone from the 
city; he was disgusted to learn that arrange- 
ments for his house and horses had not been 
made ; he deemed himself insulted by Mr. Boudi- 
not's steward, when this bluff old retainer inti- 
mated that a new Minister ought not to loiter in 
Philadelphia but should announce his arrival 
at once to Congress. In view of his ruffled 
feelings, Congress went out of its way to do 
him honor. After much fret and delay, an 
audience was set for October 31st. On that 
day shortly before noon Robert Morris, the 
financier, and General Lincoln, the Secretary at 
War, rode out to Tusculum, Dr. Witherspoon's 
country home, whither Van Berckel had gone 
on reaching Princeton the night before, and 



informed him that Congress was ready to re- 
ceive him, and he at once started for the 
village in his private coach. Just before he 
arrived, a horseman came dashing up the high- 
road from the eastward and drew rein at the 
campus gate. It proved to be Colonel Mathias 
Ogden of the First New Jersey, who had 
landed at New York the previous afternoon 
from England. Learning that the packet boat 
carrying the definitive treaty of peace between 
Great Britain and the United States had not 
been sighted, he found that he was the bearer 
of the first authentic news that the treaty had 
been signed, and he had therefore set off post 
haste for Princeton to inform Congress. And so 
the Dutch Minister was welcomed by a pecu- 
liarly happy gathering of ladies and gentlemen 
— for the interest of the occasion had attracted a 
number of visitors — when promptly at noon he 
was ushered in by Robert Morris and General 
Lincoln. Once more in this chamber the mem- 
bers of Congress were seated as usual by states. 
Mr. Boudinot sat facing them and wearing his 
hat. In front of him — not by his side this 
time- — was an empty chair. Van Berckel, on 
being introduced, read in French (hat in hand) 
the letter of congratulation and greeting from 
the Netherlands, of which he was the bearer. 
Then taking his seat in the empty chair, he 
handed his credentials to his secretary, who in 
turn passed them to Charles Thomson, Secre- 
tary of Congress. The latter gave them to 
Colonel Frelinghuysen, whose Dutch ancestry 
had made him official interpreter for the occa- 
sion, and he read them in the original. Charles 



Thomson then read the Colonel's polished 
translation. President Boudinot now rose and, 
taking off his hat, read the response of Con- 
gress. Then he handed the document to Mr. 
Thomson, who presented it to the Dutch Min- 
ister, the latter rising to receive it. This was 
the signal for the approach of Mr. Morris and 
General Lincoln, who then conducted His Ex- 
cellency back to his coach, while Congress re- 
sumed business with a sigh of relief that no 
hitch had marred the punctilious formality of 
the occasion. 

A curious list could be made of the men who 
trod the corridors of Nassau Hall that sum- 
mer of 1783. It would contain Italian counts, 
Polish noblemen, English promoters, soldiers 
innumerable, sanguine inventors, impecunious 
authors, besides nearly all the prominent char- 
acters of the day — men like Thomas Paine and 
Captain Paul Jones, Baron Steuben, Kosciusko 
and General Nathaniel Greene. Oliver Ells- 
worth, Alexander Hamilton and James Madi- 
son were among the legislators, and on the 
last day of the session Thomas Jefferson put 
in his appearance and took his seat. 

But the eighteenth century had closed and 
nearly a quarter of the nineteenth had passed 
before the most romantic figure in the Revolu- 
tionary Army honored Princeton with his 
presence. In September, 1824, Lafayette vis- 
ited this village on his triumphal tour through 
America, after the lapse of forty years. The 
flags of the United States and France were 
flying over Nassau Hall, and halfway between 
the steps and the street a strange and wonder- 



ful temple of white columns had been erected, 
in which the central decoration was the Peale 
portrait of Washington. At the campus gate 
a speech of welcome was delivered by Richard 
Stockton, son of the Signer; and when the 
distinguished knight errant reached the temple 
he received a Latin address from President 
Carnahan, together with the diploma signed by- 
President Witherspoon in 1790, conferring on 
him the honorary degree of Doctor of Laws 
from the College of New Jersey. 

Twelve years after, in September, 1836, an- 
other revolutionary hero — this time a son of 
Nassau Hall — returned to his alma mater. In 
I7S7» while he was yet a baby in his cradle in 
the president's house at the corner of the 
campus, his father had been carried out of this 
hall to his long home in the village graveyard. 
A little later these walls had echoed more than 
once to his own boyish oratory, and now al- 
most eighty years after, a man without a 
country, he at last was brought back to 
Princeton. Ambitious, brave, eloquent, mag- 
netic, a colonel in the Continental Army, Vice- 
President of the United States, once within a 
single vote of the presidency itself, and once 
dragged before the bar charged with treason, 
then as an old man wistfully visiting the scene 
of his boyhood, and at last carried here to be 
buried — think what you will of Aaron Burr, I 
know of no incident in the history of this spot 
to me more deeply moving than his final home- 
coming, his funeral in this quiet place. The 
hall was filled by the military escort, the hon- 
orary pallbearers, and the students of the col- 



lege and seminary. The Ninetieth Psalm was 
read, prayer was offered, and President Carna- 
han preached the sermon; and then the body 
was taken to the grave at the foot of President 
Burr's tomb, the soldiers leading the way, fol- 
lowed by the whole assemblage, the Cliosophic 
Society, of which he had been one of the early 
members, forming a special guard of honor. 

And the same hold that Nassau Hall had on 
the strange heart of Colonel Burr she has on 
ours. To us who love her and know her his- 
tory, who have seen her in all her lights and 
shadows, by summer and winter, by day and 
by night, — is it too much to say that she seems 
to stand for all the best that Princeton has 
been and in our dreams shall be, her gray 
walls cool and strong against fire and storm, 
ready to bear her burden for God and country 
as becometh a home of pure religion and lib- 
eral learning, gravely beautiful as befits the 
sweet dignity of academic life, and covered 
latterly with ivy planted by men who in tol- 
erant strength have gone forth from her shel- 
tering elms yet holding fast some sort of 
anchorage here. 



Sweet Mother, in what marvelous dear ways, 
Close to thine heart thou keepest all thine own, — 

Far off they yet can consecrate their days 
To thee, and on the swift winds homeward blown, 

Send thee the homage of their hearts, their vow 
Of one most sacred care ! 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



011 769 209 7 






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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 




011 769 209 7 



